


i get stupid, i mean outrageous (stay away from me if you're contagious.)

by serenitysea



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Brotp, F/M, Gen, Humor, Pranks, anti love triangle, lance hunter is a mercenary but a suave one at that, season two speculation, ward is a bit bewildered by this whole bromance thing, ward wonders who he pissed off to deserve this kind of special hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:24:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2260995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysea/pseuds/serenitysea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the one where ward hasn't met the newest addition to the team and when he does, it's guns drawn at twenty paces (or something like that). </p><p>...they might team up and become an indestructible duo. </p><p>i regret NOTHING.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. it takes two to make a thing go right

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO. the title comes from rob base & dj ez rock's _it takes two_ (READ ON AND YOU'LL KNOW WHY).
> 
> this is for all the speculation about lance hunter and his mysteriousness. i thought it would be a fun avenue to explore.

The Bus looks nearly the same as it did when Ward came aboard the first time.  
  
There are some scratches in the varnish, but the destructive path left by Garrett and his team has been erased. There is no broken glass, or shattered control panels. The lab has been set to rights with Fitz and Simmons working quietly inside. Lola, fully repaired and fueled, is ready to go from where she is tethered neatly in the cargo hold.  
  
Even his bunk looks the same, albeit slightly void of anything from his days after leaving the Providence base.  
  
And still, he cannot shake the uneasy feeling he has when he walks through the hallways. Kind of like being a ghost in your own life.  
  
*  
  
They are grounded and keep the cargo hold open because evidently Coulson is awaiting the arrival of a new Specialist to the team. Ward has an overwhelmingly bad feeling about this.  
  
He has to tamp down the automatic bristle of irritation and protest and wants to be there when said Specialist arrives.  (If it gets ugly, he can probably take him down without much damage to the lounge area while minimizing the exposure to FitzSimmons.)  
  
There is one flaw in this plan.  
  
Skye.  
  
Skye, who is calmly flipping through a magazine on the couch; completely unaware that her life may very well come to an end in a matter of seconds.  
  
"Don't you have a million things to be doing right now? Is reading a magazine really at the top of your to-do list?"  
  
Her eyebrows rocket upward and he winces internally. Showing concern for Skye in a healthy manner (and not allowing his protective tendencies to combine with his former-SO habits) is rather a losing battle he fights on a daily basis.  
  
Skye, being Skye (marvelous, understanding, _incredible_ creature that she is) brushes off his concern with a laugh. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were nervous."  
  
"I don't get nervous."  
  
"Could have fooled me." A text message comes in on her phone and she reviews it, discarding the magazine absently.  
  
Ward wonders if Coulson will mind a very — small — fire in the kitchen. It could be easily contained and extinguished and would serve the purpose of getting Skye out of the open and away to safety.  
  
Minutes pass with the kind of agonizing slowness reserved for funerals and family dinners from hell. Ward feels a bead of sweat pearling on his brow.  
  
"Ugh, it's _you_." Skye mutters, pushing up from the couch.  
  
Ward looks at her in alarm before he realizes that she is not talking to him. She's talking to —    
  
— ** _a man he killed six years ago_**.  
  
His gun is out and aimed for a kill shot at around the same time the other man calmly raises his own to level with his heart.  
  
"I _killed_ you." Ward is not aware of moving, though he knows Skye is now behind him and out of the line of fire. He does not tear his eyes away for a second. "Left you on a rooftop in Russia to bleed out."  
  
"Guess you should have made certain you'd done the job right before skipping town, then."  
  
"You can be sure I won't make that mistake again." Every instinct in his body is humming with alert, scanning for potential weaknesses and escape routes for Skye.  
  
Skye is looking between the two men with concern. "Uh, guys… Can we put the guns down?"  
  
"Not a chance," Lance snarls, refusing to take his eyes off Ward. "You should have told me he was our pickup. I'd have made sure there was an issue with the transpo."  
  
"Skye," Ward's voice has gone neutral, a sure red flag for just how angry and dangerous he was feeling. "I want you to carefully walk away and tell Coulson we have a situation."  
  
"What situation is that, Ward?" Coulson asks from the staircase, watching the two men with a keen eye. "Lance is our second Specialist in the field. He's been on several missions before and pinch hits when Trip has a cross mission he needs to run."  
  
"Sir, with all due respect, this man is a known mercenary and killer." He grits his teeth. "And I realize how that sounds, coming from me."  
  
Rolling his eyes at the self-recrimination in Ward's tone, Coulson makes his way down the stairs to put stand directly in between the two men and their guns. "I'm only going to say this once: _Drop_ _it_."  
  
There is enough jaw clenching and molar grinding to make a seasoned orthodontist weep, but they eventually set the weapons down. At Coulson's nod, Skye collects the guns (business end down) and sets them aside for later.  
  
"Like it or not, this is our team. _Work it out_."  
  
He stalks away and Skye mutters something quietly about being unable to breathe in such a testosterone-heavy environment.  
  
*  
  
(After dinner that night.)  
  
  
Ward seriously cannot take it any longer. "What the hell kind of name is Arthur?! I _knew_ you weren't an Arthur."  
  
He grins at the irritation regarding his former cover story. "Arthur, Lancelot… Thought it was pretty clever actually. All I need is a Guinevere."  
  
Ward ignores the way Lance's eyes drift over to Skye and tries to focus on the book in his hand.  
  
"About the girl," Lance trails off suggestively, smirking at the frustration that radiates off his opponent.  
  
" _Don't_."  
  
"And if she should reciprocate?"  
  
Saving Ward from having to answer was Skye herself, looking rather frustrated (considering she'd only had one beer for the evening — and that had been hours ago). "You two need to get your heads out of your asses and review the mission specs. We land in two hours."  
  
"Hell of a woman," Lance mutters, watching intently as Skye walks out of view.  
  
Privately, Ward agrees with him. (He refuses to give the satisfaction of saying it aloud.)  
  
*  
  
After the mission, the team has split to wind down.  
  
May prefers to meditate with some Zen music and release her demons to the universe. Coulson, of course, is writing the mother of all debriefs. (Just because he is the Director doesn't mean that he is exempt from paperwork. If anything, he may do more of it now than he ever did before.) Fitz can usually be found looking at monkey gifs on YouTube (Skye found him a series of previously unseen raw footage that had never been released to the public) while Simmons thoughtfully arranges her chemicals by alphabetical and then elemental order.  
  
Skye is… nowhere to be found.  
  
And Lance (much to Ward's dismay) is drinking one of his favorite beers in the lounge.  
  
Ward gives himself a mental pep talk and resolves to make peace with a man he thought he had previously dispatched to, well — _pieces_. The mercenary had kept his head in a fight and protected the team and there is something honorable and worthy about that.  
  
He offers Lance a fresh beer and takes a seat on the chair opposite him. "Thanks. For having my back today."  
  
Lance lifts his beer in a toast. "That's what a team is for, right?"  
  
Ward stares at him with faint disbelief. "It's really that simple for you?"  
  
The mercenary quirks a smile and guzzles down a third of his beer. "Why should it have to be complicated? We had a job, we all survived. In my book, that counts as a success."  
  
In Ward's book, that counts as a _roaring_ success. He tells him so, and manages to hide the involuntary flinch when Lance claps him on the back in camaraderie.  
  
"To staying alive and protecting the team," He raises his beer in a toast.  
  
"Amen," Ward taps his bottle and decides that maybe Lance isn't one hundred percent awful and that he is maybe (secretly) a little glad that he didn't die after all.  
  
*  
  
(later.)  
  
  
Skye takes one look at where they are sprawled out lazily and rolls her eyes in disgust.  "This is going to be a huge mistake."  
  
She haphazardly tosses blankets over them and walks out of the lounge, shaking her head.  
  
There is a soft snore as Ward smiles absently in his sleep.  
  
When her footsteps have padded away down the hall, Lance opens his eyes and grins softly to himself. "He was a good man in Russia and he's a good man now, darling. You'll see." Then he closes his eyes and falls asleep.  
  
*  
  
The hangovers both men have the next morning are more than a little amusing, especially when Ward stubbornly insists on continuing his training despite possessing the coordination of a newborn calf — while Lance openly wears dark sunglasses and clutches his coffee like a dying man.  
  
They work it out. (Just like Coulson ordered.)  
  
And then they work out. (Because using fists always seemed to be a communication method of choice for alpha males and this is no exception.)  
  
By the end of the month, they are sharing knowing grins and making secret plans to prank the rest of the team.  
  
*  
  
Skye reviews the security footage weeks later and wonders how on earth they are going to survive this epic bromance.  
  
*  
  
They hide her laptop first.  
  
Despite the death threats and truly horrifying bouts of retaliation (only Ward is unsurprised at Skye's creativity), they refuse to give it back.  
  
(Coulson finally has to step in and order that it be returned.)  
  
*  
  
(They both regret it later when shaving cream mysteriously makes its way onto their faces overnight and every single person on the Bus has a proper alibi.)  
  
*  
  
Tucked away safely in the cockpit, Melinda May smiles to herself.  
  
"Welcome aboard, Lance Hunter. You'll do quite nicely."


	2. yo listen up, here's a story about a little guy who lives in a blue world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHAHAHAHA THIS IS INSANE.

The celebratory drinking becomes a post-mission ritual and most often, the two Specialists can be found with beer (Ward) and Scotch (Lance) together, bitching about civilians and their unpredictable complications. Everyone once in a while, the mercenary will throw a highly controversial topic out there because it secretly delights him to see Ward so riled up.  
  
  
("I just think, if you had given every person on the planet a gun, there might be a little more peace in the world."  
  
"What — are you _nuts_?! Everyone would be shooting each other!"  
  
"No. Everyone would be in _fear_ that they might be shot. There's a difference."  
  
"…You're a lunatic.")  
  
  
They are well on their way to being pleasantly buzzed when Fitz emerges from the kitchen with a towering sandwich. He stops, like a deer in the proverbial headlights, when he sees them hungrily eyeing his food (like the sleek jungle cats he secretly visualizes them as).  
  
"Did you want to share that handcrafted delight?" Lance inquires silkily (while Ward privately thinks — somewhat absurdly) looking like an Arabian prince used to people waiting on his every demand.  
  
"Make your own bloody sandwich," Fitz snaps in annoyance, protectively hugging his plate closer.  
  
"But that one looks so delicious."  
  
Fitz is no stranger to flattery and glares at them imperiously. "Yes, I see where this is going and — _no_. Absolutely not."  
  
Ward, still somewhat lost in the conversation, looks up at his sharp response with puzzlement (and a slightly hazy disposition, thanks to the half dozen beers he'd made short work of). "Fitz, what —"  
  
"— Come on our side and you'll never have to sit through another minute of GT again," Lance winningly promises, his eyes alight with glee.  
  
The engineer looks pained. GT (or _girl talk_ as Simmons and Skye have drilled into him) is a sacred time. He actually _doesn't_ mind it. But lately it's been devolving into all sorts of horrifying things that he has to physically plug his ears to avoid hearing. (What does he care about tampons and bb cream?! These are not real problems that he has.)  
  
However, Skye has made it very clear what she thinks of the budding friendship between Ward and Lance — and has made it equally clear that any one joining their ranks will be forever stripped of friendship, snacks and movie time.  
  
(GT is probably Fitz's least favorite thing but movie time — _movie time is sacred_. They _discuss_ afterward and have long conversations that take up hours of time (often longer than the movie itself) he will never recover. He _loves it._ )  
  
"I —"  
  
"Leave him alone," Skye barks from where she stands in the doorway. Her gaze lands on Fitz. "Simmons needs you in the lab."  
  
Fitz takes off with relief all but oozing from his pores.  
  
Lance chuckles softly, the dark amusement of one who is used to getting his way and sheer arrogance of having most of what he wants fall into his lap. "He'll be on our side by the end of the week, you know."  
  
"Guess again."  
  
With his head tilted to the side in consideration he retorts, "Let's say you do manage to retain him, at least for now. Do you have what it takes to keep him on your side?"  
  
Figurative guns still blazing, Skye admits frankly, "No." At Lance's smirk of triumph, she hastens to add, "But Simmons does."  
  
His jaw drops. "Playing dirty now, are we?"  
  
"You come after Fitz, you're going to have to go through me."  
  
"With pleasure," Lance purrs, "Though I suspect I should defer to my partner in crime for that particular assignment."  
  
They both swing their eyes to Ward, who is gulping down the last of his beer and has to stifle a burp somewhat awkwardly. He gives them a brief, one handed wave.  
  
Lance rolls his eyes and snorts in frustration.  
  
Ward has nothing further to say. He isn't in the headspace for recklessly teasing Skye. He's still reeling from the fact that she can talk to him without disgust coating her every word.  
  
Skye throws up her hands and walks away.  
  
Lance looks at him with pity. "Christ. How in the hell did you manage to kiss that girl?"  
  
"You know…" A smile begins to curls on Ward's face as he remembers. "We did okay." Crumpled paper napkins start flying at his head, which he bats away restlessly. "What the hell?"  
  
Lance is all but openly scowling. "I refuse to believe it. You have no game."  
  
"I have game." Ward protests, a heartbeat too late.  
  
His eyebrows raise incredulously. "You can't even flirt with her. Clearly, whatever game you _think_ you had — you no longer do."  
  
"Oh and you're James Bond, is that it?" Ward asks sourly.  
  
"Well," Lance shrugs. "Comparisons have been made."  
  
There is only a raised middle finger as a parting gesture from one Specialist to the other.  
  
*  
  
In the morning, Lance awakens to find all the components to his shaving kit have mysteriously disappeared.  
  
"Oh, Skye… You're going to have to do better than that," he murmurs, glancing thoughtfully at the shower head.  
  
*  
  
Later that afternoon, there is a yelp of surprise and muffled obscenities from the bathroom.  
  
The team slowly enters from their various locations on board until there is only one left not accounted for.  
  
Skye glances speculatively at Lance before she knocks on the bathroom door. "Ward, c'mon. It's almost dinner time."  
  
"I'm not hungry."  
  
Fitz gasps audibly, clutching a hand to his heart.  
  
"Be that as it may, it is _your_ turn to cook this evening." Coulson replies, folding his arms. "And you're going to have to come out of there eventually."  
  
The door opens by degrees until, finally, Ward stands before them with a face that is _midnight blue_. The look in his eyes promises murder by excruciating degree and the way his fists are clenched indicate that he is just daring someone to comment.  
  
Simmons claps a hand over her mouth and squeaks loudly. May takes a long, thorough look at him and shakes her head, walking back to the cockpit.  
  
Skye has bitten her lip in an attempt to keep the grin from spreading full blown across her face but cannot help it as she swipes open her phone and cues up a song to play through the speakers of the Bus.  
  
" _ **YO LISTEN UP HERE'S A STORY ABOUT A LITTLE GUY THAT LIVES IN A BLUE WORLD AND ALL DAY AND ALL NIGHT AND EVERYTHING HE SEES IS JUST BLUE LIKE HIM, INSIDE AND OUTSIDE** _ —"  
  
The spell thus broken, Lance bursts out with laughter and nearly falls to the ground in delight. "Bloody hell, you were supposed to take a shower _after_ the girls."  
  
*  
  
(That night, Skye laughs herself sick and listens to the song until she falls asleep.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am literally rubbing my hands in anticipation for the next part you guys. IT IS GOING TO BE AMAZING. TRUST ME.


	3. lying the is most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off

Coulson and May elect to go pick up supplies because — as punishment for turning Ward blue (and other juvenile pranks that have been peppered throughout the week) — the rest of the team has been given _chores_.  
  
Lance is in charge of performing maintenance on every vehicle in the cargo hold (except Lola). He is swearing like a sailor ("Sodding ass bandits and the horse you rode in on —") while Fitz swiffers the spiral staircase outside. It wasn't really a punishment to have Simmons clean the lab (especially since she had a particular way of arranging everything) nor for Skye to detail the communications room — so Coulson switched their duties. It's taking everyone three times as long to get done what they need to do because they aren't entirely sure how it is supposed to be happening, and not even Skye's playlist of rad tunes can drown out the boredom.  
  
(Ward is, unsurprisingly, the only one not assigned a list of chores from fingertip to elbow. Apparently it's some kind of bonus for being turned blue. He has decided to reorganize the kitchen in a show of solidarity (and because it desperately needs it) rather than staying in his bunk and reading quietly.)  
  
After what seems like an eternity of staring at pipettes and glass beakers, Skye has finally had _enough_. She peels off her gloves, grabs her phone and overrides the controls until she has an open mic that reaches every corner on the Bus.  
  
"Team meeting in the lounge. Two minutes."  
  
*  
  
"Okay here's the deal. This is taking us forever," Skye huffs in frustration, ruffling her bangs. "So I propose a temporary truce."  
  
"What did you have in mind, darling?" Lance is cleaning the grease from his hands with what appears to be one of the pristine cloth napkins from the galley.

Ward pinches the bridge of his nose but it is unclear if his irritation stems from the overly-familiar way he refers to the resident hacker/agent or the black stains that are rapidly accumulating on the napkin.  
  
"Play to our strengths." There is an excited glitter in her eyes. "Someone pretty smart once told me that the most efficient way to work things out as a team was to give each person a job that they're _good_ at."  
  
Skye involuntarily glances at Ward, who has gone unnaturally still and finds a patch of carpet on the floor particularly fascinating.  
  
"But what does that mean for us?" Fitz seems unenthused that he is not getting out of his chores entirely.  
  
"Fitz you and Simmons tag team the lab. I'll finish the kitchen and stairwells. Ward and Lance will complete whatever's left on the cars." She glances down at her watch and gauges the timing of each task, and how long it will take for them to finish. "I bet we can be done by an hour."  
  
"I'll take that bet," Lance smirks, holding a deck of cards that seems to have materialized from thin air. "And raise you a game of poker."  
  
Skye grins widely. "You're on."  
  
*  
  
When Coulson and May re-board the plane, it is quieter than they had expected.  
  
He glances silently at May and flicks his gaze to the stairwell. She sets the bags of supplies down carefully and noiselessly makes her way into the main hall of the Bus. Coulson is guarding her back and watching the side corridor for any sudden movement and so he does not notice when she stops abruptly, and walks directly into her, nearly toppling them both.  
  
When he is standing upright again and has smoothed out his suit, his eyes lock on the scene before him.  
  
His team of Specialists, rocket scientists and one very precocious hacker are all in various stages of undress. There is some kind of card game laid out on the table before them.  
  
Simmons, by some miracle, is fully clothed — from the proper gray cardigan to her oxford loafers. Fitz is in possession of both his socks, an undershirt, his boxers and a tie. Lance is down to his cargo pants, but doesn't seem at all bothered by the fact.  
  
Skye and Ward are in their underwear.  
  
"I can explain —" Skye begins, and stands up to appeal.  
  
Coulson's eyes slam closed as he puts a hand up to derail her argument.  
  
"Get. _Dressed_." May's voice is toneless and all the more terrifying for it.  
  
Simmons flinches and leans ever so slightly towards Fitz, as if trying to protect him from the wrath of their team leaders. Skye is sheet white and looks like she doesn't know if she wants to laugh or throw up. (It's been a long time since she has suffered this particular discussion and she had enough of it the _first_ time around.) Lance just widens his legs arrogantly and might have lifted his beer in a mocking toast if Ward had not lunged for his hand in the nick of time.   
  
Coulson tells himself the most important thing is the team bonding and that no one is actively _blue_. It doesn't work. "I want a full debrief in five."  
  
There is complete silence as everyone's jaw drops open.  
  
" _Not_ like _**that**_!" He yells irritably.  
  
*  
  
"I want to know whose idea it was to turn our living room into a— "  
  
"— Strip club?" Lance drawls, looking far too amused for being faced with the wrath of Phil Coulson.    
  
Before the situation can escalate further — and anyone else can cop to the accusation — Ward stands up, a repentant expression on his face. "I'm sorry, sir."  
  
There is silence while Coulson tries to absorb the fact that his formerly straight-laced Specialist gone Hydra (and back) has somehow managed to rope his entire team into a game of strip poker — and lost spectacularly in the process.  
  
Even he knows that it doesn't add up but when no one else comes forward, he has to take the apology for what it is. "Frankly, it's appalling that May and I can't even leave the Bus for a few hours without worrying what will happen in our absence. I am disappointed in _all of you_." He finishes severely, shaking his head. "Dismissed."  
  
Coulson goes to his office before anyone can think of trying to defend Ward or shift the blame to where it is rightfully deserved. FitzSimmons are mute with horror, Skye looks like she's about to cry and Ward holds himself steady like he's just escaped sudden death. Even Lance seems appropriately sober by the icy dismissal and does not so much as crack a smile.  
  
The team disperses quietly and Skye gives Ward a lingering backward glance that is all but blistering in intensity. When she is tucked away safely with the bunk door closed, he turns to Lance with no small amount of satisfaction.  
  
"See? _Game_." The smirk on Ward's face is small but brilliant.  
  
"Well played," Lance chuckles softly. "There may be hope for you after all."  
  
*  
  
Coulson pushes aside the paperwork he has been slaving over for the past hour to rub a hand over his face. There is a slight vibration from his phone and he glances over to see an incoming message from May.  
  
[ _He's doing better than we thought._ ]  
  
He laughs shortly and sets his glasses on the desk. [ _Why else do you think the lot of them aren't down cleaning the hold with toothbrushes and buckets of simple cleaner?_ ]  
  
[ _Skye seemed unsettled._ ]  
  
[ _Maybe she's finally starting to come around._ ]  
  
There is a manly roar of displeasure echoing from the main quarters on the Bus that Coulson can hear through the solid walls of his office. He closes his eyes and massage his temple tiredly.  
  
His phone buzzes.  
  
[ _Maybe not._ ]  
  
*  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to nathy for giving me a workaround a very tricky bit of dialogue. *smooches*


	4. (you're a troublemaker) ...i swear you're giving me a heart attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which lance is a ladies man and no one is safe. (but not for the reasons you'd think.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the things you need to know: 
> 
> \+ fitzsimmons moments ahoy!  
> \+ some skye/ward feels ahead!

She is busily inputting data from the latest mission results and cross referencing against any known matches in their index when Lance walks into the lab. Simmons watches from the corner of her eye as he wanders through, touching most anything he can get his hands on and making her generally uneasy. She silently resolves not to let the mercenary get to her, as he has proved to be nothing but courteous to her and she wants no part of whatever he and Skye and Ward are mixed up in.  
  
Lance glances over to see her watching him carefully and sends an easy grin her way. "What are all these marvelous potions you have, Jemma dear?"  
  
"Mostly just research." Simmons hesitantly smiles back and moves quickly to guide the dangerous combination of beakers out of Lance's hands and safely away to a nearby shelf.  
  
"Any of them dangerous?"  
  
"Well, of course when exposed to air or combined with others the majority of them are rather explosive but —" She looks up to find that Lance has somehow vanished. "Strangest man on this team, _honestly_."    
  
*  
  
The following week:  
  
  
"What happens when a dangerous substance leaks in the lab?"  
  
Simmons hits her head on the desk where she is crouched beneath and winces. "Um, it would —" Lance comes over to help her to her feet and she flinches slightly as he deftly massages the tender spot until the pain has lessened considerably.  
  
"What happens?" He prompts kindly, running a quick hand to loop through her ponytail and disarming her further.  
  
She is still tingling from where he has touched her and struggles to regain the thread of the conversation. "The biohazard protocol would activate."  
  
Lance grins so widely that she is momentarily rendered speechless.  
  
"You've been an _enormous_ help, darling. Thank you." He lifts her hand to kiss the back of it and exits, leaving her to feel like all of the air has suddenly _wooshed_ back into her lungs with a rush.  
  
She stares at the door blankly for several minutes and runs through several hypotheses. They all have one damning conclusion and she lurches from her desk in a hurry.  
  
She has to find Fitz.  
  
*  
  
" _Fitz_!"  
  
Fitz gasps in alarm and nearly bobbles the massive sandwich he has been painstakingly crafting for the past fifteen minutes. "What the hell! That was almost a tragedy that I would have _never_ recovered from!"  
  
Simmons' eyes go huge with concern. "I think Lance is planning something."  
  
He gapes at her and immediately releases the plate to grab her hand and drag her from the kitchen.  
  
She splutters around the other hand he has cupped against her mouth. "Fitz, really —"  
  
"Not _here_ , Jemma."  
  
When they are finally sealed inside an unassuming storage closet beneath the hold, he takes his hand away from her mouth. "We must never speak of this again."  
  
"I should say so," Simmons heartily agrees. "Getting dragged throughout the Bus is hardly something I wish to relive via conversation and —"  
  
"— No." Fitz shakes his head solemnly. "If he is planning something — and I'm not saying he is — the smartest thing to do is _stay away_ from him."  
  
"But Fitz —"  
  
"Jemma, I'm serious."  
  
"I just don't think that we should allow Skye to encounter him unprepared. It's our duty to let her know that mischief is afoot."  
  
"You don't want to get in the middle of that battle. Look at Ward." Fitz shakes his head in pained sympathy. "He's so _conflicted_."  
  
She raises an eyebrow. "I'm not sure conflicted is the word to be using…"  
  
"I'm a man, I know the pain he's going through, okay?"  
  
"Right."  
  
Fitz looks at her sternly. "Never. Again. Promise me."  
  
Simmons gustily sighs and rolls her eyes. "Very well, never again. I still think it's the wrong thing to do but —"  
  
"— _Jemma_."  
  
"Fine."  
  
*  
  
No more than two days later, Skye is working in the lab to add some much needed hardware updates when Ward comes through, presumably headed for the hold.  
  
There is the sharp staccato of gunfire and Ward automatically lunges for Skye, tackling her to the ground and covering her with his body.  
  
She yelps and tucks her head against his shoulder and they land awkwardly in a heap.  
  
"What the —"  
  
The glass doors to the lab suddenly seal closed and lockdown.  
  
Ward is all business, automatically pressing a hand on her shoulder to keep her low to the ground. "Page Coulson right now."  
  
Skye remains where she is sprawled on the floor. "I can't get my phone while you're…"  
  
"Sorry." He scrambles off her quickly and takes a hand to pull her to her feet.  
  
There is a sort of muffled shouting coming from the other side of the cargo hold and Ward looks over to see Fitz yelling something at Lance — who looks entirely too smug for his own good.  
  
He is starting to have a suspiciously bad feeling about this. "Can you get audio from the hold in here?"  
  
Skye glances over at the scene and quickly takes a seat at the nearest computer. "Give me a second."  
  
There is nothing for a few moments and then:  
  
  
"What were you _thinking_?! There's only about a hundred or so things in there that could have killed them both!"  
  
"It was a honest mistake, Fitzopold —"  
  
"— I have _told_ you before that I _hate_ _that_ _name_ —"  
  
"— it really suits you mate, and honestly, they're alive and well. Isn't that all that matters?"  
  
"We don't clean weapons in the hold when the Bus is airborne for _reasons precisely as these_!" The level of angry frustration in Fitz's tone is slightly awe-inspiring. (Ward makes a mental note to thank him later.)  
  
Lance folds his arms knowingly. "Are you sure this isn't because I kissed your girl before?"  
  
The engineer is speechless with incoherent fury. " _ **JEMMA**_!!"

  
  
Skye is open mouthed in shock and her gaze darts from Fitz to Lance to Ward (who has the decency to throw up his hands in confusion) as she tries to sift through the overload of information.  
  
Lance smirks widely and turns to cockily salute Ward through the glass.  
  
By the time Coulson and May have responded to the biohazard alert, Lance is nowhere to be found and Fitz is growling incoherently about englishmen and their bloody nerve. Simmons has fled the scene in an attempt to locate alternate footage of the incident so that she can properly assess what has transpired.  
  
Ward raises his eyes to glare at nothing in particular beyond the lab and silently vows revenge.  
  
*  
  
Twenty minutes later:  
  
  
Skye frowns. "So… what exactly just happened?"  
  
Ward has a scowl on his face the likes of which she has not seen since the fallout with Miles. He is standing next to the series of shattered glass beakers and the single bullet hole in the wall behind them. "Lance made a very poor decision to practice his sharpshooting skills. Again."  
  
Coulson steps forward to the entrance to the lab and peers inside. "You guys okay?" His voice is slightly muffled from the glass.  
  
Skye waves in the background while Ward continues scowling. "Has Simmons managed to identify what was hit? A Biohazard lockdown isn't something to fool around with."  
  
There is an exclamation and flurry of movement as the biochemist steps around May. "Yes well, funny you should use those terms," Simmons attempts to smile bravely. "Because unfortunately, you'll have to take decontamination showers before the doors open… and that won't be for another six and half hours."  
  
Ward closes his eyes in frustration and clenches his fists. "And just how do you propose we do this? We didn't exactly carry a set of spare clothes with us, intending to get ambushed on our own _plane_."  
  
Simmons perks up with the knowledge of a problem she can actually fix. "Certainly there's something in the lab cupboards you can wear."  
  
"I don't really think Fitz's clothes are going to fit —"  
  
"Ward." Skye reclaims his attention from where she is leaning on the cabinets near the shower. A pair of black jeans and a dark long-sleeved henley dangle from her fingertips.  
  
(They both know where those clothes came from. A fight with Deathlok and a stopped heart and — there's going to be a little hole in the shirt just over where his heart should be.)  
  
He clenches his jaw so hard it feels like he might actually break it and tilts his head in mock gratitude. "Great."  
  
Skye hands the jeans to him and holds onto the shirt. She looks at him and shrugs helplessly. "It's better than being naked."  
  
Ward instantly slams his eyes shut as unwanted images barrage his senses. "I'd almost rather take my chances."  
  
She stares at the floor while she remembers the last time they stood this closely in the lab together. It takes a moment for that unique Skye sparkle to come back as she rallies and retorts, "Don't be mad because you have to go commando and it's totally going to chafe."  
  
His jaw drops.  
  
"I'll be lucky if this shirt even covers half of what it needs to."  
  
There is an inarticulate noise that comes from the hold and they look to see Coulson, who is standing with his hands covering his face in pain.  
  
Skye shrugs and turns back around, jerking a thumb at the decontamination facilities. "You want to go first or…?"  
  
Ward utters words he'd never thought possible. "Just _get in the shower_ , Skye."  
  
She grins impishly. "Aye aye, sir."  
  
As the sounds of the shower filter through the very thin and nearly see through flimsy curtain, Ward lets his head fall back and wonders what he did to deserve this kind of special hell.  
  
* * *  
  
They are on top of the holotable — because it is the only place big enough for both of them to comfortably recline and not reveal _too much_ skin — when Skye rolls over to him. The expectant look on her face has him bracing for whatever bit of nonsense is about to come out of her mouth.  
  
Ward instinctively puts a hand out to keep her from falling off the side of the table. "Yes?" The faintest trace of amusement is laced in his tone and he curses inwardly. It's nearing hour five of being cooped up in the lab and he is not as carefully contained as he prefers to be when in her presence.  
  
"I have a proposal."  
  
He raises an eyebrow. "I'm listening."  
  
Skye inches closer until she is nearly on top of him, ignoring his growing look of alarm. "We form an alliance against Lance."  
  
Ward is valiantly trying to remain calm in the face of what is proving to be (for him, anyway) clear and sudden danger. "And how would we…?"  
  
"C'mon. Your strategy and my imagination? The possibilities are _endless_."  
  
Once again, Ward find his mind drifting off to places without his permission.  
  
"Hey." She grabs his shoulder and it pulls him back to the moment. "What do you think?"  
  
He looks around at their current situation and manfully ignores the fact that he is shirtless because Skye is wearing his henley, which she has pulled down to just barely cover her butt. "I say… it can't possibly be any worse than whatever it is we're doing now."  
  
"Not as much enthusiasm as I was hoping for, but I'll take it." Skye unexpectedly jumps off the table and Ward does not manage to look away in time. The flash of her ass is not something he is going to be able to remove from his brain for a long while.  
  
He watches as she absently tugs the shirt lower — completely oblivious to the fact that it puts the pock-marked hole into _very dangerous_ territory where it hovers on her chest, and leaves a large expanse of her neckline exposed — as she folds a leg beneath her and sits down at an empty counter. She grabs the nearest bundle of blank paper, two pens and starts scribbling frantically.  
  
Despite willing himself to remain uninvolved, Ward is intrigued. "What are you doing?"  
  
The grin on her face is that of unholy glee and he has to grab onto the table to remain upright from the power of it. " _Strategizing_."  
  
"And you're not using a computer because…?"  
  
She scoffs. "Please. We're going old school here. Lance would try and hack into our plans if I did that."  
  
This seems like an extraordinary amount of work just to outsmart the mercenary who has, up until this point, beaten everyone at their own game. "You don't think he's going to find your notes?"  
  
"Of course not." Skye sets the first completed page aside. "We're going to keep them on our person at all times." Before he can process what she is doing, she is already pushing the folded sheet into his back pocket.  
  
Ward yelps unnaturally high. " ** _Skye_**! What the hell —"  
  
"I can't stick it in my bra right now, can I?" She questions reasonably, as if it is no big deal that she's sticking closer to him than she ever has in the past few months. As if it doesn't matter that she keeps innocently reminding him that she _literally has nothing on other than his shirt_. That it doesn't matter he is standing before her, half naked and close enough to feel the body heat coming off of her like a furnace, despite the fact that the lab is nearly sub-zero in temperature.  
  
"Now come on. We've got another hour in here and I want to get this wrapped up before those doors re-open."  
  
Ward isn't sure but he has the feeling he might be making a mistake. Then he looks down and sees all of Skye's exposed tanned skin.  
  
Coulson is going to _kill_ him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ imperfectlychaotic is the one who coined the term 'fitzopold.' i now refer to him this way ALWAYS and so does lance. this chapter is dedicated to her, for various reasons but mostly because she is the best commentary EVER. :D


	5. the feeling goes on and on and on and on and on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS I CANNOT EVEN WITH THAT NEW PROMO. 
> 
> LANCE LIVES. 
> 
> LANCE NOT ONLY LIVES BUT HE'S *THIS* LANCE. WE CAN KEEP HIM AND KEEP THE BROTP ALIVE AND KEEP THIS FIC GOING. 
> 
>  
> 
> \+ for both imperfectlychaotic and ves. because you both deserve to smile.

Like most major wars, this one starts out rather innocuously.  
  
(Skye actually doesn't know if that's a true statement; it feels like something Ward would roll his eyes at and contest — but he's not physically here right now and she's not going to share such sensitive information over comms.)  
  
" _Do you copy_? You have another 45 seconds, max." The underlying reprimand comes through loud and clear and she wonders if maybe the exposure whatever had escaped in the lab had affected her decision making abilities; because having Ward harp on her a`la Supervising Officer and his Rookie days were a thing in the past — she's more than earned her place on the team and he really needs to not be micromanaging her job while he's acting as lookout.  
  
She takes a deep, calming breath and rolls her eyes, sifting through the bunk with a grimace. "Look, it's not my fault that Lance is a total pig. This place is a disaster. At least you have the decency to keep yours clean."  
  
There is a moment of silence as they both absorb that truth bomb.  
  
Ward hesitantly asks, "You've been in my bunk recently?" Saving her from having to answer is his suddenly forced and slightly higher pitched, " _Hey_! We should, uh, grab a beer. Watch the game. Relax."  
  
She frowns in confusion. "Ward, what the —"  
  
There is a snort of laughter and she knows the only thing separating her from Lance Hunter is the very thin wall between them. Then she realizes Ward used to be much more smooth and practiced when providing a distraction. (Whereas right now, he's definitely tying Simmons for first place as the worst distractor ever.)  
  
"Your pickup lines need work. No wonder she won't spend time with you." The awed disdain Lance manages to infuse in his tone reads loud and clear through the wireless connection.  
  
(Though she privately agrees, Skye doesn't know if she is flattered or insulted on her former SO's behalf.)  
  
"Look, I'm new to this." Ward quietly admits. "It's been a while since anyone has really wanted to spend time around me."  
  
  
— It's like a knife straight to her heart, even though she knows the heavy truth layered within that statement and her ownership of it.  
  
  
Whatever it is, Lance must seem to take pity on him (or at least feel badly enough for his lack of skill when inviting one for a drink) because he agrees without any further persuasion and she can hear the footsteps as they head away from the bunks and presumably toward the kitchen.  
  
The last place on earth she wants to be is sequestered away inside Lance Hunter's _disgusting_ and _rank_ bunk — was that **_a banana peel_**??! — while having strongly mixed feelings about Ward. This was supposed to be a business thing; they took him down together because there was a time when the two of them just made sense.  
  
She gradually becomes aware of Ward still talking and tunes back in time to hear him say:  
  
"Well, it'd be a waste if we'd done all that for nothing."  
  
And _that_ is her warning cue.  
  
"Crap," she mutters, searching frantically for the clock. At last she finds the heavy steel watch that Lance always wears when in the field and sets it back an hour. Then she does the same to the time on his computer and figures out a way to hack the GPS travel clock he's installed by his bed. (What kind of dork has a GPS travel clock?)  
  
"I do," Ward mutters quietly, and she curses for speaking aloud when she really needs to keep her mouth shut.  
  
"Of _course_ you do," Skye retorts, waiting for Ward to give the all clear so that she can leave (honestly, it's starting to give her hives) which is taking _forever_. Clearly she is going to have to take matters into her own hands. "And for the record, _yes_ , I have been in your bunk recently. I washed your shirt and returned it."  
  
There is a choked noise on Ward's comm and she mourns the loss of perfectly good beer while checking the hallway camera feed on her phone. It's clear. She presses a hand to her rapidly beating heart and takes care to leave the room exactly as she'd found it — a total pig sty.  
  
The door opens soundlessly and she ducks through it, practically executing a barrel roll to clear the back of the couch and sprawl comfortably on it by the time the two specialists re-enter the lounge.  
  
Lance comes strolling around the corner to eye her with amusement. "Susie Poots —" she closes her eyes in embarrassment "— the last time I saw you this out of breath, we had switched up your morning routine."  
  
Ward stiffens with barely restrained outrage (she isn't sure if it's the thought of the — ahem — thin workout gear she wears or the visual of Lance helping her do what only he had been in charge of previously that generates such a reaction) and pins her with a single glare.  
  
"Whatever. You guys are weird."  
  
Deciding that he doesn't give two figs about the tension all but thrumming in the air, Lance heads for his bunk and whistles loudly until the door shuts behind him.  
  
There is dead silence and then:  
  
"— _Susie Poots_?" Ward sounds like he is grinding his molars into paste.  
  
Skye winces. "It was… a very poor decision involving large amounts of alcohol. Once he found out, he wouldn't let it go. I'm surprised he hasn't dropped it in front of you before."  
  
  
(Now that she mentions it, Ward does recall the mercenary talking about a special Susie the first night they hashed everything out in the cargo hold. It's blurry, as they had gotten spectacularly drunk in the meantime — and the alcohol required to put down two Specialists is no joke — but if he works at it, he can probably remember more details.)  
   
  
"And you don't get to be all broody about this," She stands, poking him insistently.  
  
"Okay." He remains motionless and turns his head to look at her. " _Mary_."  
  
Skye screeches loudly enough that Fitz and Simmons come up from the lab.  
  
Before Ward drifts off to sleep that night, there is a message on his data pad. [ _we have an alliance, so the first one is free. trust me when i say you don't want to go down this road with me. call me mary again and i promise you'll regret it_.]  
  
[ _Sure thing. …Susie._ ]  
  
He can hear her scream of frustration and the wall between their bunks shudder with the force of a well-placed kick. And despite it all, Ward falls asleep with a half smile on his face.  
  
*  
  
( The next morning.)  
  
  
Lance grins and leans back on his barstool cockily, with no apparent regard for his continued existence (if May's glare of daggers and pickaxes were anything to go by) as he watches the rest of the team scurry into the room.  
  
Coulson takes in the rumpled group with a slightly disturbed look. "Is there a specific reason why everyone except for Lance is late to this morning's debrief?"  
  
The muscles in Ward's jaw twitch.  
  
Skye grits her teeth. "No, sir."  
  
"Perhaps you might consider synchronizing your clocks? After all, only one of you arrived on time."  
  
"Promptliness is next to godliness." Lance preens under the compliment and pretends not to notice the dark glare that Simmons is shooting his way.  
  
Coulson shakes his head and passes out files. "Read up on that. May?"  
  
"Wheels down in 20."  
  
"You heard her." He gives them a very thorough last glance, not missing the details of how Simmons is pressing a bundled tie in Fitz's hands or how there is the briefest of exchanged looks between Skye and Ward. Without further proof (as the cameras has been disabled — and no one remarks on who has the skill for that kind of maneuver; especially as said person is looking pretty groggy herself) he can't accuse anyone of anything and it's too damn early for him to be having these kinds of headaches.  
  
(Coulson wonders if Fury felt this way about his work with the Avengers.)  
  
(Probably not, as they'd had a semi-healthy respect for him.)  
  
(…Except for Stark.)  
  
*  
  
"What _happened_?" Fitz demands, fumbling with his tie and ducking Simmons as she attempts to fix his sloppy knot.  
  
"We tried to set back all his clocks an hour," Skye admits, glaring at the door Lance has disappeared behind.  
  
"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say _it didn't work_. I feel like I've just missed my exams at SciOps again."  
  
"Oh, Fitz. It's not that bad."  
  
"It's pretty bad, Simmons. We just got dressed down by our superior officer."  
  
"Commanding," Ward corrects softly.  
  
"Yes, right. _Commanding_." He nods politely at Ward to take the sting out of his next remark, "Because that is _so much better_."  
  
Skye throws her hands up in the air and flops back into the recliner. "Look, I don't even know _how_ he did it. I only changed _his_ clocks; not yours and definitely not mine or Ward's."  
  
They take a minute to process the apology buried underneath the explanation and everyone cools down.

"Suppose he resets all his clocks each night as a countermeasure." Fitz exclaims, looking excited to have a potential solution on hand.

"Even if that were the case, I had to hack into his GPS clock." Skye unfolds from the ouch and begins restlessly pacing. "So if that reverted against the code, he could have figured it out. But why sabatage yourself?"

"Deniability." Fitz and Ward say in unison, looking adorably pleased.

"Seems like an awful lot of work for one person, that's all I'm saying." Skye casually waves as she disappears into her bunk to get ready.  
  
"Promptliness isn't even a _word_ ," Simmons sniffs with disdain, following after Skye.  
  
The lounge is quiet once again.  
  
And then:  
  
  
"What do you think they _do_ in there?" Fitz wonders curiously.  
  
"All sort of things, Fitzopold." Lance ducks out of his bunk, heading for parts unknown and automatically moves out of Fitz's range of movement (and subsequent punch) so smoothly it almost doesn't look real.  
  
"You'd likely know," the engineer accuses, "Tomcatting around the way you do."  
  
Ward tells himself sternly that Fitz is a grown man and leaves him to fight his own battles.  
  
(He tells himself this or else he will stay and the headache he has will turn into a migraine and really, the past 24 hours have been a little insane.)  
  
(And maybe they'll take a day off before moving further on down the list.)  
  
His data pad illuminates. [ _tomorrow is confetti and water buckets. bring your A game._ ]  
  
  
Maybe not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was a coda for the last part that you may be interested in reading: [and after the show it's the after party](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com/post/97541538750/the-brotp-runneth-over-and-after-the-show-its-the).
> 
> also there is ALL SORTS OF lance flailing on my tumblr. feel free to join the madness.


	6. do you know this house is falling apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was not supposed to be nearly 3K. this was supposed to be about half of that. but then, i ask myself: [what would lance hunter do](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com/post/97930128720/whenever-you-find-yourself-at-a-crossroads-in)? and i had to write the thing. 
> 
> also fyi this is not betaed or really gone over because it's nearly 3am and i am desperately needing sleep. i will fix it tomorrow!

When Fitz stumbles down to the lab it is far too early for any normal human being to be functional — so when he is greeted with a fairly incredible sight, he chalks it up to his imagination. He sits down at his workstation, reaches for the notes he was working on last night, and promptly falls back asleep.  
  
In fact, he doesn't even realize he's fallen back asleep until a piercing scream rips through his dreams and startles him awake.  
  
" _What_?! What's happening!"  
  
Simmons is standing with a hand clapped over her mouth in fright and pointing wildly. He follows her outstretched hand to see Ward standing firmly with (what has to be) Skye's feet and legs braced on top of his shoulders. The rest of her body has disappeared into the ceiling tiles above and there is the occasional movement as she appears to be searching for something.  
  
"This is _not_ ," Ward grimaces, "What it looks like."  
  
"Oh?" Simmons has gotten over her fright and puts her hands on her hips. "Because it looks an awful lot like you are turning our lab into a hiding place for _something_ we want _no part of_."  
  
"Then it's _exactly_ what it looks like," comes Skye's muffled voice.  
  
"We don't?" Fitz mumbles quietly, dodging Simmons' furious glare.  
  
Ward absently reaches up to correct Skye's footing as she moves from her position. "We'll be out of here in another five minutes, tops."  
  
There is silence and then — Skye tumbles gracefully from the ceiling to sit on top of Ward's shoulders with an ease that is more than a little confusing to everyone involved. "Got it." There is a crumpled paper clutched triumphantly in her hand.  
  
Ward cranes his neck around, trying to look at her. "Was this really necessary?"  
  
"Did you _want_ him to find the list?"  
  
"No, but —"  
  
"If you'll recall, we were running out of hiding places because we were _half naked at the time_."  
  
His eyes slam shut. "Fine."  
  
Skye tosses a brief grin at FitzSimmons. "Thanks guys. Carry on. We'll be upstairs if you need us." When they stare at her with barely hidden shock, she backpedals. "Right. Breakfast. Waffles?"  
  
Fitz nods vigorously. "Yes. Especially if you want us to keep your hiding place a secret."  
  
" _Fitz_!"  
  
"What?! We should get _something_ out of this since we're always caught in the crossfire."  
  
Simmons can't really argue with that kind of logic. "I prefer blueberries on mine, please."  
  
Ward sighs heavily and doesn't resist when Skye threads an arm through his elbow to drag him away, chirping about batter consistencies and the very real battle between fresh and frozen fruit.  
  
* * *  
  
( The next day.)  
  
  
She watches the video feed like a hawk until Lance enters and then grins with delight. Minutes tick by while she is keeping an eye on the water levels in the bathroom until it is evident that he's finally in the shower. A few more keystrokes and she remotely flushes the toilet and blocks the flow of hot water.  
  
There is a manly yell and Ward roars, " _ **DAMMIT SKYE**_!"  
  
Her jaw drops in shock as she compares the feed again and curses under her breath. She is out of her bunk and racing down the hall by the time he is finished. She dodges a slow-walking Coulson (who stares after her in horror) and bursts through the bathroom door.  
  
"I'm _sorry_!"  
  
Ward freezes where he stands on the other side of the shower. "What —"  
  
Skye boosts herself to sit on the sink and leans forward in earnest. "You have to understand, I was watching the video feed and I saw Lance go in. This was supposed to be happening to _him_."  
  
There is nothing but the sound of water beating down for few moments.

  
"Skye? Can you please get out of there and let Ward finish his shower in peace?" Coulson sounds like he is barely holding onto his self control despite being faint from the locked door.

  
"Yeah, sure. Five more minutes!" Skye brushes him off impatiently, literally waving away a hand at the door even though he can't see.  
  
(Ward isn't sure if the answering silence is because the Director's head has exploded or if he has just thrown up his hands and walked away.)  
  
"Do you think he found a way to hack the feed?" She wonders aloud, turning her head absently to retrace the steps of their team for the past day.  
  
"Do _you_ think you could turn _the hot water back on_?" Ward archly responds.  
  
"Whoops!" Her eyes widen as she makes a few adjustments on her phone.  
  
Slowly steam begins to fill the cramped bathroom again and Ward resumes showering peacefully. He thinks he is alone until —  
  
" _Damn_."  
  
He drops the soap with a loud clatter and bites back a frustrated yell. "You're still _in here_?"  
  
"Of course. I want to figure this out and it's probably the only place he can't find us plotting."  
  
Even with the shower, Ward's long suffering sigh is clearly audible. "Skye. I promise you that I will find another place for us to _plot_ … if you _get out of here and let me shower alone_."  
  
She scowls at the shower curtain. "Not like we haven't done it before."  
  
" _Go_." He orders as authoritatively as one can when they are buck naked and a very thin barrier is separating them from the rest of the world.  
  
"Fine." She glances at the shower and makes a split second decision. With a grin, she flushes the toilet and flees.  
  
" ** _SKYE_**!"  
  
* * *  
  
Team dinner that night that is painful in its silence.  
  
Finally Coulson announces: "New rule. When someone is in the bathroom, _no one else_ is allowed to _enter the bathroom_."  
  
Skye tips her head in consideration. "What if we need to pee and the door is unlocked?"  
  
" _Skye_ …" he trails off warningly.  
  
"You can use the one in the lab," Simmons offers quickly, flashing a placating smile at the Director.  
  
"Thank you, Simmons." Coulson looks like he has aged about ten years in the last five minutes trying to hold onto his temper and not unleash his frustration on the team.  
  
The rest of the meal is finished in peace.  
  
When Skye is about to throw her napkin away in the garbage, she feels something stiff under her fingertips. A small note is curled within. [ _meet in the suv after 9pm_. ] She grins and doesn't complain about dish duty for the first time in weeks.  
  
* * *  
  
The front door opens and Ward climbs inside the SUV, ducking his head. "Skye? You in here?"  
  
She pops up from the backseat. "I swept the car for bugs. We're clear."  
  
"Thank god for small blessings," he mutters sarcastically.  
  
"Get back here — you'll be seen from the front windows."  
  
"I'm not going to —"  
  
"Come _on_!" She insists, tugging on his arm.  
  
"At least let me —" He reaches for the door and she lunges forward, fitting her body between the two front seats and sloppily immobilizing him.  
  
Ward takes a breath and strives to remain calm. "Is there a reason why you're hell bent on me not opening this door?"  
  
"Someone might see you! Just climb back here."  
  
He lets his head fall back against the headrest. "I'm too old for this."  
  
"Nonsense!" She chirps, resettling in the back. "We've got work to do, hurry up."  
  
* * *  
  
( Meanwhile, inside Coulson's office:)

  
Coulson is grimacing at the screen in front of him. "You're saying he got _into the car_ with her?"  
  
"Yes sir," Lance appears soberly distressed, an otherwise foreign look against his usual countenance. "I wouldn't have made a big deal about but see there —" He gestures in time with the way the SUV suddenly shakes forcefully and Ward's form can no longer be seen through the glass. "I'm pretty sure what they're doing in that vehicle is not sanctioned for official SHIELD use."  
  
"Dammit, Hunter." Coulson closes his eyes in frustration.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
* * *  
  
"So it looks like Coulson locked me out of my master access of the video feeds."  
  
Ward is still wincing from his awkward transition into backseat and has to twist his neck around to look at her. "Can he _do_ that?"  
  
"As gratifying as it is to have you put that much faith in my computer skills — yes. He's the Director, he can do whatever he wants. I can watch from a few locations, but I can't tap in and watch whatever I want anymore."  
  
"We're going to have to resort to other methods."  
  
"Maybe we can rig up some kind of old fashioned surveillance camera. Get FitzSimmons to build a gadget or something."  
  
"I don't know if they're going to jump into this," Ward trails off slowly as he remembers the incident from earlier that morning.  
  
Skye doesn't bother holding back her scoff of disbelief. "Please, they're on our side."  
  
"I don't think it's that simple," he insists. "Simmons has a pretty strict moral code. She's not going to get involved unless she has to. Like if she accidentally shoots him or something."  
  
There is an epic silence that builds in the vehicle. Ward begins to grow concerned. "Skye, that was a joke."  
  
" _Right_." She nods in an extremely unconvincing manner. "So, good planning, overall." She says decisively, reaching for the handle and frowing when the door won't unlock.  
  
Ward gives her an exasperated look. "Trouble?"  
  
Skye tilts her head in an open challenge and leans back, arms folded comfortably. "You try it."  
  
He isn't going to give her the satisfaction of reaching across to get out so he turns to the door on his side. It's locked.  
  
" _Ahem_." She says pointedly.  
  
They sit there for a minute, occasionally trying to open the doors.  
  
"I'm going to kill him," she finally vows, drumming her fingers on the window sill.  
  
"I'm going to help you hide the body."  
  
* * *  
  
Somehow it happens that the doors are magically unlocked when Coulson arrives at the top of the cargo hold. He is glaring down at them with a fury typically reserved for the most irredeemable of criminals.  
  
Lance stands off to the side and doesn't bother masking his grin of mischief.  
  
"I don't know what is going on with you two, but frankly I'm tired of it."  
  
"AC, we were just —"  
  
"— _No_. You've been acting like _children_. There's a mission in two days and I don't even know that I can clear you to work together in the field — you're _that_ unstable."  
  
Ward looks like he's about to be sick while Skye is just barely holding onto the fringes of her temper. Coulson eyes them both. "You have mandatory training every morning for the next two weeks, or until I see fit and this discord is resolved." He stalks away, leaving no room for argument.  
  
Skye turns her head to glare at Lance. "This is war."  
  
"Oh." He raises a brow. "So that was just the foreplay then, Susie?"  
  
She shrieks angrily and Ward has to actually _lunge_ forward and grab her from tearing into Lance. "Stop!" He spares half a glance at the other man with arms full of a wildly flailing Skye and coolly responds, "In another five seconds I'm going to let her go… tell her all of your weaknesses… and watch as she tears you apart."  
  
Lance casually waltzes out of the hold, whistling aimlessly.  
  
Slowly the fight begins to drain out of Skye and Ward cautiously lets her down to stand on her own. "Okay?"  
  
She shakes her head minutely. "We need FitzSimmons. We can't do this on our own."  
  
Ward sighs heavily and strives to be the voice of reason. "Let's just sleep on it. Maybe something will come up in the morning and —"  
  
"— _Ward_."  
  
"Fine." He gestures for her to precede him back upstairs to the main cabin. "We'll get them onboard tomorrow."  
  
* * *  
  
( the next day.)  
  
  
Just before they enter the lab, Skye stops shy of the door and turns to glance at Ward. "Did you leave the note?" He nods. "Good."  
  
Simmons greets them with a rueful smile. "Heard about Coulson's… _meltdown_. Sorry about all that."  
  
Skye shrugs and propels herself across the lab in one of the rolling chairs. "Whatever, he'll cool off." At Ward's barely muffled sound of disbelief, she grudgingly amends, "In another week or two."  
  
Fitz winces in sympathy. "I'd steer clear of May then. She's always in a mood when he gets like this."  
  
"I don't really like it when Mom and Dad fight either," Skye says sarcastically, "But it wasn't totally our fault."  
  
Putting down the files she has been reviewing, Simmons curiously asks, "It wasn't?"  
  
Ward shakes his head and Skye gives them a brief summation of the night before.  
  
Simmons looks outraged. "I just can't believe he _did_ that to you! Locking you in the car and then setting you up!"  
  
"I can," Fitz mumbles under his breath.  
  
"Believe it," Skye says. "Because it happened and I don't know what we're going to do now."  
  
"You'll hide out here for a while," Simmons firmly declares. "We'll make sure you stay out of the line of fire for a while."  
  
"Thanks." Ward says. "We hate to bother you, but everywhere else seems to be a little too risky for now."  
  
"We'll even put you to work," she exclaims brightly, looking at Fitz for confirmation. "There's loads to be done."  
  
Skye exchanges a brief panicked glance with Ward and knows he can see the naked fear in her eyes. They need to move this timetable up and _fast_. She starts to wander through the lab, trailing her hands over whatever finds laying on the counters. Fitz begins following after her (and it is sign to his concern for their debacle that he doesn't reprimand her once) and putting everything away neatly.  
  
On her last walk though, Skye tosses Fitz an ICER. "Check the weight on that one, will you?"  
  
He raises an eyebrow and half-heartedly glares at Ward. "Is it an ounce off?"  
  
Ward blinks at him and then stiffens. "Someone's coming."

  
What happens next is kind of a blur:  
  
1) Lance enters the lab  
2) Skye kicks Fitz to hide the ICER  
3) Fitz shoots Lance  
  
  
When the dust has cleared and they are all staring at their fallen teammate on the ground, Simmons is shaking her head. "Honestly, I wanted no part of these shenanigans."  
  
Everyone looks at Ward.  
  
"Why is everyone looking at me?" Ward asks warily, putting his hands up slowly.  
  
"What's the plan?" Skye asks impatiently, kicking at Lance's foot absently.  
  
Fitz is still staring in horror and has the ICER clutched in a death grip in his hand. Ward sighs heavily and approaches him cautiously. "Fitz, I'm going to need you to put down the ICER."  
  
Slowly the awareness comes back to life in his eyes as he focuses on Ward's voice. He lets the the ICER fall out of his hand and onto the counter with a graceless clatter. "Wh— What happens now?"  
  
"Now we'll have to hide the body and then we'll probably be sent to the cage," Simmons interjects mournfully.  
  
Skye shoots her an incredulous look. "What? No. We're team bus, Coulson will totally believe us when we tell him it was an accident."  
  
There is a weighted pause while each person thinks about the way things have escalated with the prank war and that Coulson is not feeling very warm and tolerant toward Skye at the moment. Fitz and Simmons immediately launch into a terrifying argument that escalates by the second.  
  
"— _ENOUGH_." Ward pinches the bridge of his nose to relieve the pressure building behind his eyes. "Skye, go check the feeds anywhere but here to make sure the hallway is clear. Then, keep Lance's bunk open. Fitz, you're in charge of cleanup. Head down to get whatever supplies to make it look like there was some kind of a spill and you're cleaning it up. Simmons, lock up the ICERs and make sure each of them has been wiped clean of fingerprints."  
  
When no one moves, Ward raises his eyebrows. "Unless you'd like to tell Coulson the truth…?"  
  
Fitz bleats in panic and rushes out the door, while Simmons and Skye both leap into action.  
  
"I'll need to get some of the erasing chemical agent that we keep locked up below," Simmons concludes apologetically, and he waves her off.  
  
"Hey, take a look at this." Skye calls from outside the hallway.  
  
Ward casts a backward glance to where Lance is still sprawled unceremoniously on the lab floor and makes his way over to Skye. "What did you find?"  
  
"It looks like the feed to the lab has been cut."  
  
"How? I thought you said Coulson revoked your access."  
  
"He did. I can't figure out who did this but the my best guess is that it was cut about fifteen minutes ago."  
  
They turn to each other with sickening realization and race back into the lab —  
  
— Only to find it devoid of one unconscious mercenary.  
  
Arms full of cleaning products and a mop balanced precariously in the crook of an elbow, Fitz struggles to make his way inside. "Okay, so that took some doing; whoever organized those shelves is a sadist, I swear, but here's what we've got: Bleach for the pungently clean smell and lavender to mask the bleach and —" He looks at Skye and Ward who are both troublingly quiet. "What's wrong?"  
  
Simmons enters the lab in a burst of moment and takes in the scene rapidly. "Where's Lance? Did you already deliver him back to his bunk?"  
  
Ward shakes his head slowly and Skye is unable to meet their eyes.  
  
"But then…" Simmons trails off.  
  
Fitz's jaw drops open. "How in the hell did he even _do_ that? Do you know what this _means_? We're doomed."  
  
Skye tries to summon a smile. "At least we're together."  
  
"So _doomed_ ," he mournfully repeats.


	7. ain't nothing wrong with this chemistry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JUST SO YOU KNOW. 
> 
> this chapter is the LONGEST one yet, something ridiculous at over 4,000 words because it refused to be split and i couldn't stop writing. the premiere nearly DID ME IN but i have emerged victorious. also, FYI we are rapidly drawing to a close in this little happy universe. SORRY MY FRIENDS. kudos to captainsummerday for helping me break through the writers' block by giving me _what makes a good man_ by  the heavy and inspiring this chapter's title because of it.

Night on the Bus is one of Ward's favorite times.   
  
The cabin is quiet as most everyone is sleeping and the ambient lighting has a very pleasing glow, especially when he steps out to get a few bottles of water. Since everything had gone down, he tries to take pleasure in the little things — there is something very comforting about enjoying the peace and calm in his bunk.  
  
Ward is quietly reading in bed when a suspicious noise comes from ceiling. There is a muffled curse and a quick burst of movement —   
  
— Skye falls through the overhead paneling to land rather ungracefully on the floor in a pile of limbs.   
  
  
They stare at each other in shock for several moments.   
  
He cautiously puts the book aside to glance up at the ceiling, then back at her.  
  
"What up?" She waves casually, wincing as she tries to move through the pain and get to her feet.   
  
Ward is by her side immediately, helping her up and checking for injuries. "Are you all right? What happened?"  
  
She shrugs nonchalantly. "You know, the usual: Lance sealed my bunk closed with… I don't even _know_ what," Skye frowns in thought. "But I couldn't get it to open from my end so it's definitely not an override code in play."  
  
He scowls darkly. "Stay here."  
  
"Wait!" Skye lunges for his arm and yanks, losing her balance _just_ as the Bus happens to hit a patch of turbulence ( _what the hell_ ) causing them topple backward onto his bed.   
  
Ward closes his eyes in embarrassment.   
  
"This is getting to be a habit of ours," Skye manages between peals of laughter.  
  
"I am going to kill him," he finally says, rolling off her smoothly and letting his head fall back on the pillows.  
  
Skye is too busy laughing to chime in with a response.  
  


* * *

  
  
When Skye stumbles into the kitchen later that morning for breakfast, she is wearing her workout gear and blindly seeking coffee.   
  
She spots Lance hovering near the machine and waves him off. "Need caffeine. _Move_."  
  
"Did you have a restful evening, Susie?" He inquires over the rim of his mug.   
  
She blissfully gulps down the coffee like it is her lifeline. "Slept fine."  
  
Ward blearily stumbles in, rubbing at the corner of his eye. Skye wordlessly passes him her coffee mug and leans in to peck Lance on the cheek. "Thanks."  
  
Ward takes a second to narrow his gaze threateningly at the other man, thrusting the mug into Lance's chest before he follows swiftly after her.   
  
Lance stands gobsmacked in the empty kitchen. "What the _hell_."  
  


* * *

  
  
"Did you see his face?" She crows triumphantly. "It was _priceless_!"  
  
Ward tries to fight off the answering smile on his face and patiently corrects her stance, nudging her instep with his toes. "Can you at least _try_ to hide your joy? We're trying not to give away the whole game here," he reminds gently.   
  
She rolls her eyes. "C'mon that was a victory for us! This is _huge_ — he's always managed to be one step ahead at all times and —"  
  
There is movement from the corner of his eye and he suddenly sweeps a kick at her legs.   
  
She just barely manages to jump back to avoid it. "— The _hell_ , Ward?"   
  
"Briefing in five," Coulson shouts down from the the walkway, disappearing back inside.   
  
Ward widens his eyes warningly and she reluctantly bites down on the vicious remark, though the look in her eye promises severe retribution.  
  
"We need to be stealth," he insists, gesturing for her to precede him upstairs.   
  
"If I wasn't slightly sleep deprived and looking forward to more coffee, the things I would do to you for that…" She trails off threateningly.   
  
Ward rolls his eyes and wonders how they are going to last even one day with their new and improved plan in play.  
  


* * *

  
  
"We need a two-person team to go in and retrieve some intel for us."  
  
May glances up from her tablet and nods at him once, and some kind of wordless communication seems to pass between her and the Director.  
  
"In light of recent events," Coulson's gaze cuts over to where Skye and Ward are standing at the back of the briefing room with their arms folded. "We have elected to send in FitzSimmons."  
  
  
Pandemonium erupts.   
  
  
"— Have you _lost_ your _mind_ —"  
  
"— all due respect sir, we haven't been properly cleared for this kind of mission —"  
  
"— I'd honestly prefer to run support on this if that's okay —"  
  
"— has anyone considered the fact that Simmons _can't lie_ —"  
  
"— I object _most strenuously_ to that assessment —"  
  
"— Well actually, she does have a point —"  
  
" — Can we at least review protocol and ICER safety before they go —"  
  
"— We're the specialists, why aren't you sending us?!"  
  
"— At least _one_ of the specialists, anyway, not all of us have the problems like Bonnie and Clyde over there —"  
  
  
The argument escalates steadily until it reaches a deafening roar and Coulson yells, " ** _Enough_**!"  
  
Silence echoes in the room while Skye is the only one stupid enough to glare at him stubbornly.   
  
"I can't send Skye and Ward because your faces are potentially known to these operatives — and, for what it's worth — you guys aren't exactly functioning well as a two-man team. Not like FitzSimmons."  
  
Fitz chooses that moment to preen rather inappropriately under the backhanded compliment.   
  
"Oh Fitz," Simmons says, shaking her head.   
  
"Wheels down in two hours," May says, heading back to the cockpit.  
  
"We'll be stopping for supplies and going in tomorrow." Coulson gives his team a stern once-over. "This may come as a bit of a shock, but I expect you _all_ to behave like adults."   
  
Because the idea is too absurd for him to contemplate, Lance begins chuckling obnoxiously.  
  


* * *

  
  
Ward finds Fitz in his bunk, packing a bag in preparation for tomorrow's mission. He knocks and enters once Fitz has waved him inside.   
  
"Can't believe we're doing this." Fitz grumbles, holding two pairs of mismatched socks and throwing them both off to the side. "Simmons will be _unlivable_ for the next day in the lab, she's going to spin all sorts of theories about our covers in hopes that it will help sell the story and honestly, all she has to do is get a flash drive, it's simple enough, I can't even remember all the details she creates, it's over the top and —"  
  
"— Hey." Ward raises his eyebrows and nods for the younger man to take a seat on the bed. "That's her way of dealing. She's probably just as uneasy as you are about this. But Coulson wouldn't send you both in if he didn't think you were capable. Try to remember that."   
  
Fitz sighs heavily. "Yeah, I know. It's just —"  
  
"— Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?" Lance stands in the doorway with a smirk on his face. "Lovely digs you've got here, Fitzopold. Could use a bit of housecleaning though, don't you think?"  
  
Fitz glares at him and Lance moves into the bunk, undeterred. "So, I've come to help you suit up." Both hands are behind his back and he smiles winningly. "Pick a hand."  
  
With an exasperated groan, Fitz jerks his head to the right and Lance reveals half a dozen condoms. "Always wear protection."  
  
Ward makes a noise suspiciously like a growl. He physically puts himself between the two men and glares down at Lance. "Get _out_."  
  
"What? I just want to make sure the science kids are being safe on their mission and it's more likely that Fitzopold is going to lose his mind when he sees the dress that Susie has loaned our darling Jemma —"  
  
"Come _on_ , it's not as if I haven't seen her naked before." Fitz says, clearly irritated with the other man.  
  
Lance pauses mid-tirade and curiously asks, " _Recently_?"  
  
"Like I am going to tell _you_ that!"  
  
"So… _not_ recently then," Lance murmurs to himself, gaze unfocused as he mentally runs through several scenarios.  
  
Ward rolls his eyes and begins maneuvering the mercenary out of the bunk. "Thanks for the info, we can take it from here."   
  
"Just remember. Be safe." Lance winks devilishly. "And then… _be safe_."   
  
The door seals shut behind him and Fitz falls back on his bed, muttering creative death threats under his breath.   
  
Ward looks like he is having a bit of a hard time stifling his smile at some of the ideas but gamely clears his throat to continue. "Look, mission or not: if at any point you feel uncomfortable, don't do it."  
  
"Aha!" The matching sock clutched victoriously in his hand, it takes Fitz a moment to replay the last statement in his head and respond to Ward. "It's Jemma, it won't be uncomfortable."  
  
"Sometimes undercover ops bring up all sorts of," Ward purses his lips in frustration, seeking the right word, " _feelings_ and situations that we aren't always prepared for."  
  
Cutting off the engineer's reply is the noisy, chattering arrival of the girls on the other side of the bunk. Skye must do something to force the door open, because it slides free before either man can unlock it.    
  
"Fitz, what do you think?" Simmons stands before him while biting her thumb nervously, clad in a burgundy dress with draping and various tucks elegantly highlighting her trim figure.   
  
"— I think _I did good_ ," Skye mutters, elbowing Ward repeatedly until he is forced to wrap an arm around her to keep her immobile against his side." _Behave_ ," he warns quietly.  
  
"What I think — I mean — it's — Wow," he says fervently, eyes wide and searching as though he can't decide where to look first.   
  
"C'mon. Let's go," Ward gently admonishes, tugging on Skye to pull her away from the room.   
  
She grins up at him widely and only manages one backward glance as the panel door slides closed over Simmons' patient recitation of facts for their impending mission and Fitz's audible groan of protest before it dissolves into a bickering match.

  
"— think you _need_ to have that much skin showing or —"  
  
"— so now I'm _incapable_ of determining how to dress myself, is that what you're trying to say —"  
  
"— you _know_ it's not but do you really think what you're _wearing_  — if you callthat  _wearing_ and not  _painted on_ — is going to be first on the mind of _anyone_ when you enter the club looking like _that_ —"  
  
"— it's a _PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE_ garment, Fitz, people wear far _less_ in these types of situations and furthermore —" 

  
Ward scrubs a hand over his face and reverses direction — with Skye still in tow — for the cargo hold. Off her confused look, he explains, "I don't really want to be hearing that all night and the only way we're going to drown it out is by training."   
  
She nods in agreement and flinches as something is loudly thrown from within Fitz's bunk and the escalating argument continues.   
  
  
(" _Oh come off it, you know that wasn't what I meant!"_  
  
 _"Really? And just what am I supposed to think when you make an accusation like that_ —")  
  
  
Skye nods, eyes wide.  "Never thought I'd be saying this, but: good idea."   
  


* * *

  
  
(The following afternoon.)  
  
"It's Hydra. We have a chance here," May warns calmly, holstering her ICER and splitting her attention between the rapidly disappearing trio of operatives at the end of the alley and the information feeds in front of them.   
  
"Let's not be hasty," Coulson tries to argue. "We've got FitzSimmons undercover and our priority needs to be running support for them in case anything —"  
  
Shots are fired loudly from a few hundred feet away and May is no longer waiting for his command. "I'm not letting them interfere with this operation. Stay if you want, but that threat needs to be _contained_."  
  
Coulson grits his teeth and visibly wavers between the doors May has just taken off through and the screens displaying Fitz and Simmons' progress in the club. "I am going to regret this," he mutters, taking off his tie and suit jacket. "Do _not_ do anything that will jeopardize the mission. Lance —"   
  
Lance turns to him with a shit-eating grin. "Yes, Captain, my captain?"   
  
Ward has to physically turn his back to keep from acting on his frustration at the mercenary's sass while Skye is having a hard time keeping the laughter from bubbling out.   
  
"I _do_ regret this," Coulson mutters to himself, taking an extra ICER and tucking it in the back of his waistband. "You're in charge. Run support on comms. Do not engage."  
  
Skye glances up in curiosity. If Ward is at all bothered by Coulson putting the other man in charge, he doesn't show it. She hands Coulson extra ammo and gives him two thumbs up. "Go get 'em, boss."   
  
"Skye," he begins warningly, "Stay in the van."  
  
She scoffs. "Like I would ever leave? _Please_."  
  


* * *

  
(Seven minutes later.)  
  
  
"Okay, this is officially the most boring thing ever." Skye has flopped inelegantly across the seats in the van and is critically staring at her split ends.   
  
Lance crunches noisily on his crisps and widens his eyes innocently when it draws Ward's death glare from across the seat. "Problem?"  
  
Ward shakes his head curtly, eyes trained back on the screens.   
  
Skye is all but twitching with restless energy. "That should be us in there. We'd be done by now."  
  
"We're too noticeable and they can handle this," Ward patiently reasons, bracing a hand on the counter. "Have a little faith in them."  
  
"I _have_ faith in them," She protests, turning to face him and ignoring her video feed completely. "It's the people in that club I don't trust."  
  
Lance idly fiddles with a few controls out of view, under the keyboard tray and the screen changes suddenly. He watches the argument begin to escalate between Skye and Ward with a private smile and then loudly exclaims, "I've lost them."  
  
Ward tuns to him in alarm. " _What_?!"  
  
"You had _one_ job!" Skye throws her hands up in a panic, pacing restlessly. " _One_!"  
  
" _How_ did you lose them?"  
  
"Well, perhaps if you two weren't yelling so loudly, a man could actually _concentrate_ on the job that he is meant to be doing and —"  
  
Ward all but snarls at him in frustration. "— Please, I've seen you fight in _war zones_ more deadly than this and you've never had a problem before."   
  
This time, Skye does not successfully quash her snort of laughter. Ward spares her half a seconds' fond look and turns back to Lance with a frown.   
  
Lance puts his hands up innocently. "Look, they're gone. Are you going in after them, or shall I?"  
  
"You're supposed to be on comms," Skye reminds, beginning to dig through the tactical bags under the seats. When she comes across Ward's, she extracts a dark button down. "How attached are you to this shirt?"  
  
"Uh —"  
  
"— Great." She turns to Lance. "Give me your knife."  
  
With a slowly building smile, Lance does as requested. Skye flips it around and moves to jab it into her leg —  
  
— Only to be stopped by Ward's hand covering hers.   
  
"Do you mind?"  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"We have to go in there. I'm not appropriately dressed." Skye takes advantage of his momentary confusion to bat his hand away and resumes her work, efficiently slicing into the leg of her tactical pants and slashing them into the shortest cutoffs either man had ever seen. She begins to lift her shirt and finds both men watching with rapt attention. "Really, guys?"  
  
Lance grins cheekily and sprawls further into his chair. "Far be it for me to turn down a free —"   
  
Ward scowls and hastily spins the chair around, forcing them both to stare at the wall instead.   
  
"Okay, it's good. You can look now." The button-down shirt is hardly fastened and loosely drapes open to her navel, clearly exposing the black lace bra underneath.   
  
"Dammit, Skye." Ward closes his eyes.  
  
" _Hello_ , pet," Lance exclaims in delight, neatly dodging the blows they both aim at his head. He stands quickly and offers two comms. "Stay online. I really don't want to have to come in there after you."   
  
"You just might have to," Ward mutters grimly, eyes locked on Skye as she jumps from the van in a hurry. The movement does hatefully wonderful things to her legs and backside and it takes him a moment longer to get his head back in the game.   
  
The van in quiet for several minutes before Lance reactivates the dots indicating Fitz and Simmons. "Perfect. Exactly where I left you," he says, reaching for a bag of homemade popcorn. (Fitz really did insist on traveling with snacks everywhere. It was getting to be one of the nicer perks of the job.)  
  
"Let's see what you can do."   
  


* * *

  
  
So far, Ward has lost count of the number of men he's had to physically intimidate away from Skye. They haven't even been in the club for five solid minutes yet and she's getting hit on right and left. The thing about Skye is — part of her doesn't even notice it; she's split between blending in and finding FItzSimmons — so she's too preoccupied to realize the hell he is going through.   
  
But he is all too-aware as the bright flashes of strobe lights call attention to the broad expanse of naked skin on her body and how it seems like every male in the place is starting to zero in on it. This club is giving him a migraine.   
  
"Do you see them?"  
  
" _WHAT_?" She yells, trying to be heard over the loud, pulsing music.   
  
Ward scowls darkly at a man who looks like he is about to lay his hands on Skye's waist. "Do you _SEE_ them?"   
  
Skye puts a hand on his arm to balance in the sea of dancers and draws closer, pressing her body against his in an alarmingly fast maneuver. "Not yet."   
  
He has to remind himself to breathe evenly. "Keep your eyes out. They have to be around here somewhere."   
  
Skye has abruptly lost the ability to verbally respond, as his hands have settled familiarly at her waist and he is unconsciously feathering them against her skin. Just when she thinks her knees are about to dissolve from the sensation, Ward dips his head low to rest his chin on her shoulder. "Fitz is guarding the south stairwell."  
  
She pulls herself out of his arms with a start. "Let's go."   
  
When she raises her hands and begins to dance her way across the floor, he has no choice but to grab her fingers and lace them tightly with hers so they are not separated as they move through the club.  
  
Once they have made their second lap around, Skye spots a familiar blonde thatch of hair and tugs Ward after her. She descends upon Fitz with the intent of a hunter, causing him to jump and shriek in alarm.   
  
"Bloody _HELL_! What was _that_ for?!"   
  
"Where's _Simmons_?"   
  
"Yes, hello, fancy meeting you here." Fitz continues primly, blatantly ignoring the question while his quick gaze misses nothing; not the still joined hands, Skye's outfit or the way Ward has protectively placed himself at her back, all but shielding her from view.  
  
"You went offline. We couldn't find you," Skye yells into his ear. "We just wanted to make sure you guys were okay."  
  
Ward is momentarily distracted by two decidedly looking underage teenagers and the suspicious beverages clutched in a death grip in their hands. "Does anyone know that they're serving minors here or —"   
  
"Focus," Skye reaches up to place her free hand on his cheek, drawing his attention back to their dilemma.   
  
"It's fine. Look, you should probably take off now," Fitz struggles to explain, shuffling awkwardly. "We're okay and obviously _very much_ on the grid."   
  
"We'll wait for her," Skye promises, despite the growling in her stomach. They'd missed out on the snacks again and by the time they go back, Lance was sure to have eaten them well.   
  
"No really, you should go —"  
  
"We're _not_ leaving until she comes out from —"  
  
"Fitz, I've got it!" Simmons' voice comes loud and clear over the comms. There is a horrifying sound of a man grunting in pain only survivable as her breathing remains steadily unchanged in their ears.   
  
He summons a weak smile for Skye and Ward, who are both staring at him expectantly. "That's great. I'm at the rendezvous point." The unfamiliar terminology feels cliched and unnatural, and Skye can't help wincing at his monotone inflection.  
  
"Copy that," she responds cheerfully. "Meet you there."   
  
Simmons emerges from the end of the hallway, brilliantly triumphant despite the disarray of her clothing as the straps of her dress slip from her shoulders every now and again. Her hair is a sight, clearly having been quite disheveled in her quest to obtain the flash drive and only looks worse as she draws nearer. (For reasons neither Fitz nor Ward want to dwell on.)  
  
There is a loud commotion while she shoves past two particularly overeager men looking to dance and she shoves one into the other, ducking away as punches start to be thrown. Her bright smile dims suddenly when she sees Ward frowning in her direction, which she counters by raising her eyebrows high at Skye's attire.   
  
There is silence while the four of them take in each other's unexpected appearances and the brawl continues below.   
  
"Really you two, we had this _well in hand_ ," Simmons cries in exasperation.   
  
"You sure as hell did," Lance comments smoothly over the comms. "Hello, Jemma _darling_ , love the dress."   
  
Fitz scowls darkly, shrugging out of his leather jacket to drape it over her shoulders.  
  
The brawl has escalated into a full-fledged riot on the dance floor below and Ward peers over the side to assess the potential threat. "We should probably go now."   
  
Skye can't help but smirk and high-five Simmons on the way out the door, the girls whispering animatedly about the details of Jemma's successful heist (and completely oblivious to the terrifying scowls both Ward and Fitz aim at the men as they pass by).  
  
It goes smoothly until Fitz reaches in his pocket and jabs the small device in his hand, plunging the club into darkness.   
  
Chaos breaks out and Ward rolls his eyes, gesturing for the three to scurry ahead in front of him.   
  
_"Fitz,"_ Simmons reprimands, shaking her head affectionately.   
  
"I didn't like the way they were looking at you ladies," he defends imperiously. "Best to leave them all in the dark."  
  
"Can we just _go_ ," Ward grits his teeth, hurrying them back to the van, "Before someone puts the pieces together and we're in bigger trouble than we will be when Coulson figures out that Skye left the van looking like _that_?"  
  
"Hey!"  
  


* * *

  
  
May flings herself into the drivers' seat and turns the engine on while Coulson dives into the passenger side.   
  
"Everybody accounted for?" He quickly fastens on his seatbelt.   
  
They all chime their agreement and are flung back into their seats as May punches the gas, heading back to the Bus.   
  
After a few minutes silence, Coulson turns at the waist and looks into the back. When his gaze lands on Skye, he chokes. "I don't even _want_ to know, do I?"  
  
She opens her mouth to explain and Ward calmly places his hand over her lips, easily capturing her jaw in the process. "No, sir," he says by way of a response.  
  
"Tell me something good," Coulson sighs, choosing to face forward rather than look at his ragtag group of kids.   
  
"We got the flash drive!" Simmons announces, placing it into his open hand.   
  
"At least something worked out."   
  
From where he is squished between Simmons and Skye, Lance grins. "Oh, I'd say a little more than _something_ ," he mumbles, wincing in pain as both of the girls elbow him sharply for his comment.  
  


* * *

  
  
(That night.)  
  
It is a rare time when they are able to leave the ramp to the Bus lowered, but May had scored a relatively deserted place to land and so there is fresh air circulating throughout the hallways and cabins. It is no surprise that Lance finds Ward here, staring out into the countryside deep in thought.   
  
"Truce?" Lance extends a fresh beer to him and offers up the plate of nachos he has as an olive branch.   
  
Ward glances at him warily, secretly grateful that Skye has been locked out of the video feeds. He is too tired (from today's harrowing mission and also not sleeping last night and hashing out a plan of attack; Skye is somewhat of a terrifying little general when she has an idea in her head) to segue into the next phase of the plan. He just doesn't have it in him to be on guard right now.   
  
He nods, and the other man sits down.   
  
"So, I've got a question."  
  
Ward drops his head and sighs deeply. It was official. _No one_ on this plane was ever going to give him a moment's peace. " _Yes_?"  
  
"Do you love her?"   
  
His jaw drops and the beer slips from his hand before he reflexively tightens his grip.  
  
Despite the frank question, all traces of mischief are shockingly absent from Lance. There is a patient understanding in its place, a kind of gentle reassurance that Ward had never expected from the sarcastic man.  
  
Still, it leaves him with the impression of being under scrutiny and he bristles uncomfortably. "This is not up for discussion."   
  
Off Ward's hasty recovery and unamused glare, Lance smothers a grin. " _Right_. So what's the problem?"  
  
"It's _complicated_."  
  
There is silence in the hold until Lance finally says: "Then _un-_ complicate it."  
  
"Not that simple."  
  
Lance frowns at him. "The Ward I knew went after what he believed in. I don't care what anyone says — you're still that guy."   
  
"I don't think —"   
  
"— _Exactly_. You're _not_ thinking. I saw the two of you today; you damn well _know_ a connection like that is rare."  
  
For the second time in five minutes, Ward feels his jaw drop open in surprise.   
  
Lance raises his hands innocently. "Just calling it as I see it."  
  
"…I'll think about it." He finally manages around the shock clearly evident in his expression.   
  
"Listen. We both know how unpredictable this business is. Don't wait forever."   
  
Even despite his half-buzzed stupor, there is something painfully vulnerable about the way his words ring true, and Ward turns to look at Lance in askance. "...What?"  
  
"You _know_ what I mean," Lance shifts, clearly uncomfortable. Prolonged conversations about feelings also known as heart to hearts (or, as the girls had made him suffer through once: " _h-to-h_ ") were not exactly his forte, and there were limits to this conversation, truce included.   
  
Ward remains silent for a long time, staring out into the open field and sky. He thinks about Skye and where they are now and how badly he'd screwed up before rejoining the team. "I do," he responds finally, taking the other man's words under heavy advisement.   
  
He doesn't expect an answer, and Lance snores once from where he is slumped against the wall. Ward sighs and resumes watching the sun as it sets for the evening.   
  
Moments like this kind of made everything else worth it.   
  
There is another prolonged snore and he rolls his eyes.   
  
Present company excluded.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> skye's club outfit is loosely inspired by [this](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com/post/98604418600/in-a-skyeward-galaxy-far-far-away) post. YOU'RE WELCOME.
> 
> you may also enjoy [a lance/ward brotp moment](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com/post/98103100590/brotp-its-a-quarter-after-one-im-a-little-drunk) if you haven't already read it.


End file.
